Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes
by MaverickLover2
Summary: Bret Maverick and Mary Alice Tompkins tried everything they could to get married the summer he was fifteen, but Bret needed his father's permission and Beauregard wouldn't give it. Mary Alice was supposed to return the next year when Bret was old enough to marry on his own, but the wedding never happened. This is the story of what really took place the following year.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Zeke Holloway. That was the name that he kept reading in letter after letter that arrived from Mary Alice, and it was about to drive him crazy.

He remembered the first time she'd mentioned Holloway, along with several other new friends she'd made in Louisiana. He didn't think anything of it, but as time passed the other names faded away and this one remained, appearing more and more often. Until the mere mention of the name caused him untold hours of misery.

Bret Maverick was only fifteen years old but he was sure he'd found the love of his life. At least he'd been sure when Mary Alice Tompkins was sent to Louisiana to live with her Aunt in September. At first he was so angry he stopped talking to his father, for not letting them marry, and his brother Bart, for telling that they'd run off to get married, and it continued until almost Christmas. That was all over now, and the year had made the turn into January, but things had not improved much on the home front. Even though he spoke to his father things were still strained, and even his relationship with his brother was different.

And then there were the letters, and the name. Zeke Holloway. And that was an even bigger concern.


	2. My Darling Mary Alice

Chapter 1 – My Darling Mary Alice

 _My Darling Mary Allice – I was pleased to get your latest letter, and I wanted to get back to you right away. It's better here, easier, since I started talking to Pappy again, but I'm miserable without you and I still can't get used to the feeling that part of me is missing. Do you feel that way too? You seem to have more things to keep you busy than I do – my life consists of poker and helping Pappy with the ranch, though there's not too much to be done here. I didn't realize how much of my time was occupied by school, and with Bart gone all day it gets really lonely._

 _Little Bend is so small, it's not often I get to meet anybody new. You don't seem to have that problem, and I envy you that. I like to hear all about your adventures with Sally Jo, Susie, and Marie. Zeke seems to spend an awful lot of time with you girls, is he somebody's brother, or boyfriend? Seems like a nice enough fellow._

 _We're going into town today so this letter will be short, as I want to put it in the mail and get it back to you. Time goes by so slowly, and I can't believe I have to wait until June to see you, but I will make it through somehow. Remember that I love you always, Bret._

He read the letterover three times before he was satisfied with it. He wanted to ask her more about Zeke Holloway, much more, but thought better of it. He was almost afraid of the answers he might get.

Finally he heard Pappy moving around in the kitchen, followed by the typical question. "Breton, you ready to go?" Use of his full name seemed to reassure Pappy that he was paying attention and would answer.

"Yes, sir, I am. Be right there," he called back, and hurriedly folded and sealed the letter. He hoped Mary Alice would write back quickly – all he had of her were her letters, and they seemed to be getting further apart all the time. _'Too much Zeke Holloway and not enough Sally Jo, Susie, and Marie,_ ' he thought. Maybe if he asked Pappy about Zeke . . . no, that idea was discarded. It would just give Pappy one more reason to point out why getting married at fifteen had been a bad idea.

"Come on then, let's go."

Bret ran through the small house and caught up with Pappy outside the front door. They hadn't bought supplies in almost a month and everything was beginning to run low, thus the trip into town in the wagon rather than on horseback. Beauregard saw the envelope in his son's hand and stifled a sigh. Bret had just begun talking to him right before Christmas after three months of silence, and he wasn't about to do anything to jeopardize that, even if it meant keeping his opinions about his son's relationship with the girl in Louisiana to himself.

"You got the list?" Bret was in charge of keeping the list of things they needed to replenish, but Beauregard wanted to be sure it hadn't been forgotten in favor of the letter.

"Yes, Pappy. Right here," the boy replied as he pulled the list from his pocket.

"Read it to me, would ya?"

Bret tucked Mary Alice's letter in his coat pocket and opened up the list to read. "Flour, sugar, salt, lard, coffee, one new sheet for Bart's bed, beans, soap, two pairs of socks, and bacon, bacon, bacon."

Beau had to laugh at the list – it was Bret's own _'bacon, bacon, bacon'_ that got to him. He'd made the decision several months back not to acquire another pig for the ranch and see how they fared buying pork in Little Bend, and Bret's obsession with bacon had surfaced. "Just how much bacon do you expect to eat, boy?" Beau asked.

"As much as you'll buy, Pappy," he heard in reply.

"We'll see what it'll cost us." Beau enjoyed these trips into town with his oldest son, now that he and Bret were back on halfway-decent terms. They'd always been close; physically Bret was rapidly turning into a carbon-copy of his father. The son possessed his own version of the father's well-known glare, and it worked on everyone but his younger brother Bart, who'd been subjected to the original his entire life and was unimpressed by a reproduction. All of Beauregard's looks resided in his oldest son. He came by them naturally and often didn't realize he had the same habits and mannerisms as his father. The one thing that was different – very different – was their temperament. Beauregard could, at best, be cantankerous. Bret was happy and sweet-natured, with affection for almost every living thing he came across.

At least he had been before he fell 'in love' with Mary Alice Tompkins, a classmate who was being physically mistreated by her father. After Ben Tompkins was killed in an accident, Mary Alice lived with the Mavericks for a short time, and she and Bret tried everything in their power to get married. Mary Alice was old enough to do so without parental approval; Bret wasn't. When the girl finally went to stay with her aunt in Louisiana for a year, the sweet-natured boy turned silent on his father, with a sullen and hostile attitude sometimes spilling over to everyone else.

Finally it wore thin, even for Bret, and he resumed communications with Beauregard. His smile returned, along with the killer dimples he'd possessed his whole life, and the difference in temperament between father and son once again became evident.

Beauregard thought he'd never survive his oldest son's silence; next to losing his beloved wife, Isabelle Grayson Maverick, suffering the treatment from Bret was the hardest thing he'd ever endured. So difficult, in fact, there were moments when he desperately wanted nothing more than to drown his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey. Somehow he got through it, with help provided by his brother Bentley and his youngest son Bart. The morning he came home from playing poker in Little Bend and discovered Bret had resumed speaking to him was among the happiest in his life.

Now they rode on the wagon, side by side, once again father and son. Their relationship still wasn't quite where it had been before this all started, but it was a darn sight better than just last month. "You need socks, too?" Beau assumed the request for two pairs of socks was from his youngest son, who always preferred to have two of anything rather than just one.

"I could use a pair," came Bret's reply, accompanied by a grin. Trust Pappy to see through Bart's request.

"Why does your brother need two of everything?"

The fifteen-year-old shook his head. "Don't know, Pappy. Maybe he's just gettin' prepared for when he's a rich gambler and can own dozens and dozens of things." Another grin followed. "If he ever learns not to draw to an inside straight."

Beauregard sighed. That was one lesson his fourteen-year-old seemed to forget more often than not. "Just keep after him, Bret. He'll remember it eventually, or die tryin'."

Bret snickered. "You wouldn't wanna bet on which one it is, would you, Pappy?"

"Nope. Absolutely not. And it's your job to help him remember."

The boy looked slightly chastised. "I do the best I can, Pappy. You want me to try beatin' it outta him?"

' _Dear God, I hope he's kiddin,'_ thought Beauregard. "No, son, I don't believe it'd do any good. Your brother's too stubborn for that. Let's take a gentler approach and just keep remindin' him." They'd arrived in Little Bend, and Beau pulled the team up in front of Snyder's General Store. "You got a letter for Mary Alice? Get on over to the stage office then, and meet me back here when you're done."

Bret jumped down and ran across the street. Beau climbed down from the wagon slowly and watched his oldest run. _'I wonder if I was ever that young and full of spit?'_ he thought. _'Just keep these old bones around a few more years, Lord, so I can finish what I started with their momma.'_ He smiled as Bret disappeared into the stage building. _'They ain't quite done growin' yet.'_


	3. New in Town

Chapter 2 – New in Town

By the time Bart got home from school, Bret and Beauregard had driven back from Little Bend and unloaded the supplies. Everything was put away and once again the larders were full. When Bart came through the door, Bret threw his new socks at his little brother.

"Hey, I asked for two pairs. What's the deal?"

"Pappy only bought two pairs – one for you and one for me," Bret answered.

"But I . . . " Bart started, but Pappy cut him off.

"You only got one pair of feet, Bartley. You can only wear one at a time."

"But Pappy . . . "

"No buts, boy. I had to buy you new sheets and you know how much those cost. One pair of socks until you're a rich and famous gambler. Then you can have as many as you want."

"Yes, sir." Bart wandered off into the bedroom to put away his socks, and in just a few seconds let out a loud yelp.

"What now?" Beau asked.

His youngest son came running back out into the main room, carrying the sheets. "I can't use these, Pappy. They're for . . . girls. They got little flowers on 'em."

"I know they do, Bartley, but that was all they had. You needed new sheets, I got new sheets."

Bart shook his head vehemently and dropped the sheets on a chair. "Can't. Just can't."

Beauregard looked from his youngest to his oldest and back again. Bret shrugged his shoulders and addressed his brother. "I'll take those and you can have mine."

"Ewww. Flowers?"

Bret rolled his eyes. "Whatta I care? Ain't nobody gonna see 'em but me. And you. All I gotta do is sleep on 'em, not wear 'em."

"Trade me right now?" Bart pleaded.

"Yeah, sure, go ahead. Take the ones off my bed and put 'em on yours. Then put these on my bed."

"Some help?" the younger Maverick begged.

A shake of the head. "Nope. You're the one wants my sheets, you gotta do the work."

Bart made a disgusted sound and stalked back off into the bedroom. Bret snickered and turned to his father. "Was I that bad?"

"Worse," Pappy answered. "You were a royal pain in the butt until . . . well, until you met Mary Alice." Beau hoped that the mention of the girl's name wouldn't remind Bret how angry he'd been, and start the cycle of silence all over again, but the remark seemed to slide right off his son's back.

Bret shrugged. "That don't seem so important now."

It was a calculated risk, but one that Beauregard decided he needed to take. Something was bothering Bret, something big, and as far as Beau knew, he hadn't said a word about it to anyone. "You heard from her recently?"

A nod of the head. "Got a letter last time I was in Little Bend. Sent her my answer today."

"Everything alright?"

Bret didn't answer right away, and when he did Beauregard knew that his oldest son was holding something back. "Sure. Everything's fine."

"You ever wanna talk about anything . . . anything at all, I'd be willin' to listen."

A shake of the head was all Beau got for now. "Thanks, Pa."

A few minutes passed, Bret sitting in a chair at the table, Beau busying himself with small things in the kitchen itself. "I got an idea. Let's have breakfast in Little Bend when we're done playin' poker tonight. I heard they got a new cook up at Willa's that's supposed to be real good. You can get you an excess of bacon, bacon, bacon."

At last, a smile and a laugh. That was more like it. "Alright, Pappy. Sounds good to me."

XXXXXXXX

Poker was average, at best, that night. Beauregard won a decent amount, Bret a somewhat smaller total, and when both games had run their course the two Mavericks, father and son, walked up the boardwalk to have breakfast at Willa's. Usually they just rode home and ate there, but Beau was hoping that by spending time together without his brother around, Bret might open up to his father and explain what was bothering him. Willa's had been in Little Bend as long as either could remember and always had good food, but word had spread that there was a new cook who was outstanding.

They'd just gotten seated when Beau noticed that the cook wasn't the only thing new at Willa's. There was a new waitress, a little thing with wheat-gold hair and blue-green eyes, who couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old. She hurried over to take care of them and smiled bright enough to light up the room when she saw Bret. "Gentlemen, what can I get for you both besides coffee?"

His oldest son hadn't even looked up, but Beauregard was more than pleased to see such a beauty at Willa's. Maybe . . . just maybe, if Bret could get his mind off Mary Alice and on to something, or somebody else, there was hope for him yet. Pappy cleared his throat and replied, "Aren't you sweet? You're new here too, aren't you? What's your name?"

"Sawyer," she answered shyly. "And who are you, sir?"

"Beauregard Maverick, ma'am, and this is my oldest son Bret. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He tipped his hat to the young girl and she blushed prettily.

"You mean you have more than one son, Mr. Maverick?"

"I do, indeed, ma'am. The younger one is named Bart, and he's at home asleep right now. Still in school. Bret and me decided to try out your new cook. Didn't know there was a pretty young lady here to take our orders. By the way, I'll have bacon, eggs, grits, and a double order of toast. And plenty of that coffee you offered. Bret, tell Miss Sawyer what you want to eat."

Bret finally looked up and began speaking, talking before actually seeing the girl standing next to him ready to take his order. "Eggs, potatoes, a double order of bacon, and . . . " his voice drifted off as he finally got a good look at Sawyer.

"Yes, sir, any toast? And coffee for you, too?" she asked without missing a beat.

"Uh, I . . . uh, toast, yes, toast, and coffee. And, uh . . . "

"Anything else, Mr. Maverick?"

"Bret. Uh, just Bret. No, Miss . . . uh, Sawyer. That's enough. I mean all, that's all." Bret had removed his hat and he looked up at her through the black, curly hair that spilled down over his forehead. _'My_ _goodness,'_ he thought _. 'Where did she come from?'_ And for almost three whole minutes he didn't think of Mary Alice.

Beauregard did his best to erase the smile that had crept across his face. Bret was paying attention to someone female whose name wasn't branded into his memory. And from the look in his son's eyes, it was more than just a momentary attraction. Sawyer put away her notepad and hurried off to place their order and bring them coffee. Bret watched her cross the room and duck into the kitchen, then emerge with a full coffee pot. He never took his eyes off her as she came back and filled their cups. And when she walked around the rest of the little café replenishing everyone's coffee, he watched her glide from one table to another and wore the vestiges of a smile as she did so.

"Looks like Willa was busy," Pappy remarked, and Bret nodded in agreement. "Wonder where she came from?"

"Must be new in town."

"Sure is a pretty little thing, ain't she?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, she is." As if Bret had just noticed.

When the girl came by with the coffee pot again, Beau asked her about her name. "Unusual name, Sawyer. That your first name?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Maverick. Sawyer Bedford. My mama thought I was a boy, and by the time I was born she liked the name so much she didn't care that I was a girl."

"Folks new in town?"

Sawyer smiled and nodded. "Just me and mama. Daddy got killed by the Sioux a few years ago. We been all over Texas lookin' for a town like this. Mama's a seamstress, got a little shop down the street. Your misses needs anything made or mended, you let her know."

"My wife died years ago. Your mama mend boys clothes too?"

"Yes, sir, she does most anything. Her names Sarah, Sarah Bedford. Excuse me." Sawyer hurried back to the kitchen, and in less than two minutes returned with their breakfasts. She set Beau's in front of him and teased Bret as she handed him his. "Eggs, potatoes, toast, and bacon, bacon, bacon."

Bret almost spit out the mouthful of coffee he'd just taken. Sawyer had used the same phrase he'd used the day before about his newest obsession. "Everything alright, Mr. Maverick?" Sawyer asked. Bret swallowed and nodded.

"Bret. Please call me Bret." Finally he smiled at the girl and unleashed his dimples. She smiled back at him, blushed, and hurried to another table.

"Pretty little thing," Beau stated again, unnecessarily.

"Mmm hmm," Bret answered, not even realizing his father had repeated himself.

' _So glad we came to breakfast,'_ Beau thought, and he was pleased.


	4. Love and Other Things

Chapter 3 – Love and Other Things

"You been awful quiet, boy." That was an understatement. Bret had said exactly two words ever since they left Willa's, and those were 'yes' and 'no.' "Somethin' botherin' you?"

"No, sir." They hadn't gone fifty yards when Bret changed his answer. "Yes, sir."

"Well, which is it?"

Another fifty yards. "Somethin's botherin' me."

Beauregard waited for his eldest to say more, but nothing was forthcoming. Finally he was forced to ask another question. "You waitin' for me to pull it outta you?"

"No, sir. It's Mary Alice . . . and Sawyer Bedford . . . and me."

"All three of you together?"

"Yes, Pappy. It's all . . . I mean, I'm all confused." That was evident from the look on Bret's face.

"Confused about what, son? Because you noticed another girl?"

"Yes, sir. I just don't understand . . . I love Mary Alice, but I didn't even think about her when I saw Sawyer. All I could think about was how pretty Sawyer was . . . and how funny it was she mentioned bacon the way I did yesterday." They'd slowed their horses to a walk before Bret pulled his up entirely. Beauregard did the same. "How could I do that, Pa? How could I just forget Mary Alice like that?"

"Son, do you think about Mary Alice every second of every day?"

"Well, most of the time."

"Every second of every day?"

"No, Pappy. Not every second of every day."

"Do you feel guilty when you don't think about her?" Beauregard was doing his best to remain calm and reason with Bret, rather than just telling his son he was being foolish.

"Well . . . no."

"So you don't expect to think of nothin' but Mary Alice?"

"Well, I . . . I guess not . . . I mean, I do think of other things." Bret started his horse toward home again, and Beau followed suit. He still sounded bewildered.

"So tell me again why you're confused because you thought of somethin' besides Mary Alice?"

Just a note of frustration had crept into Bret's voice. "Because . . . because what I thought about was Sawyer." The fifteen-year-old could see that his father still didn't understand. "I thought about another GIRL."

"Oh." A pause. "I see. Another girl. And what's wrong with that?"

"Well, a girl, Pa. Another girl. How could I think of another girl if I love Mary Alice?"

They'd arrived home and ridden their horses into the barn, continuing to talk while unsaddling them. "So you ain't supposed to think of another girl. Not at all? Not in any way? Not any female, even Lily Mae, or just girls you might . . . like?"

"Not Lily Mae, Pa. Just girls . . . I might like, I guess."

"And what's wrong with thinkin' of a girl you might like? Does that mean Mary Alice ain't supposed to think of another boy? And what if she does?"

' _Zeke Holloway,'_ Bret's mind immediately blared at him. _'All she talks about recently is Zeke Holloway.'_ "I don't know, Pappy. I just don't know."

"Bret, it's natural for you to think of other girls, just like it's natural for Mary Alice to think of other boys. You're fifteen-years-old, for God's sake. You two ain't married, you ain't even engaged. You're both human, and you got the right to think about other people. There ain't nothin' wrong with it, not for you or Mary Alice. Would you be mad at her if she thought about another boy?"

' _Zeke Holloway, Zeke Holloway, Zeke Holloway,'_ Bret's mind sang. ' _All I hear is Zeke Holloway . . .'_ "I . . . I guess not. But . . . "

"But what, son?"

"Did you ever . . . did you ever think . . . about another woman when . . . "

"When your momma was alive?"

Bret hung his head. He was sorry that he'd asked the question. "Yeah."

Beauregard loved women. All women; young, old, large, small, pretty, not so pretty, the entire female race was to be treated with respect, and consideration, and loved. But he had loved Isabelle Grayson above all, and his oldest son knew it. Beau held his head up high and answered Bret truthfully. "I looked at 'em, Bret. I admired 'em. I tried to be kind to 'em. But there was never another woman in my mind, and in my thoughts, once I committed to your ma. She was the only one in the world for me. And that's how I knew for sure that I loved her. And when you love a woman, truly love a woman, you'll feel the same way."

"Are you sayin' . . . are you sayin' I don't love Mary Alice?" The boy sounded almost strangled.

"No, I'm not sayin' you don't love her . . . I'm sayin' you don't love her with all your heart and soul . . . more than life itself . . . enough to never think of another woman . . . you haven't learned to love like that yet. Oh, I'm sure you love her, just not that way."

"Oh." There wasn't much else Bret could say. Everything Pappy told him made sense, yet it made no sense at all. There were too many things swirling around in his mind . . . Mary Alice and love and Sawyer and her blonde hair and shy smile . . . Zeke Holloway and his intrusive presence in Mary Alice's life and her letters. His head hurt. He needed sleep and a better understanding of women . . . and love. Would he ever have that? It was all too much for a fifteen-year-old, and as he shuffled off to bed, all he could think about was girls and the confusion they caused. He passed his brother's bed and wondered at the fact that Bart didn't snore . . . and for some reason he did . . . and he was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. And his sleep was punctuated by the vision of Mary Alice and Sawyer chasing him and throwing rocks at him . . .


	5. The Conversation

Chapter 4 – The Conversation

Three days passed before Bret rode back into Little Bend with his father to play poker. Three long, hard days occupied with a lot of thinking and even more physical labor on Bret's part. If he couldn't get his head to work properly, the least he could do was try to reason things out with hard work. After the three days were over he'd repaired the corral fence, patched the barn roof, chopped wood for the fireplace, cleaned not only his half of the bedroom the boys shared but his brother's half too, and built a new hat rack for inside the front door. And determined that physical work was not the answer to his dilemma.

"I'm goin' into town with you tonight, Pappy," he informed his father late in the afternoon.

"You run outta things to fix?" Beauregard inquired.

"Nope, just figured out that hard work don't fix your head. I need to play some poker for that to happen."

"It's Friday night, Pappy. Can I go to town with you?" Bart asked eagerly. As long as Bart kept up with his schoolwork, the fourteen-year-old had been allowed to join his father and brother in Little Bend on Friday's. None of the Maverick's played poker in Little Bend on Saturday night; Beauregard considered that 'amateur' night and stayed away from bad poker players and drunken cowboys. It was a wise choice.

"Haven't heard anything from Miss Slade recently, Bartley. You keepin' up with your schoolwork?" Pappy questioned.

"That's why you ain't heard from her, Pappy, cause I been doin' what I'm supposed to. Can I come with y'all?"

"Can you stay up all night?" Bart loved sleep more than almost anything and had a bad habit of falling asleep before everyone else was ready to come home.

"Yes, sir, I can tonight."

"Can you stay up long enough to go to breakfast after poker?" his brother asked.

"Breakfast? At Willa's with that new cook? Sure can," promised the youngest Maverick.

"Fine. You can go with us. Be ready about an hour after supper. Lily Mae brought by some stew, we're havin' that tonight. Bart, it's your turn to do the dishes. You got enough money to get started?" Beauregard was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee.

"I've got over fifty dollars, Pappy," his youngest son replied.

"Should be enough for the games you get in. You gonna take it all with you?"

"Yes, sir."

That night the father and his two sons rode into town with poker the main topic on everyone's mind. Beauregard played expertly, as he always did; Bart did well for a fourteen-year-old against grown men; he won thirty-five dollars. Bret's mind wandered while he played; unable to concentrate on anything other than wanting to see Sawyer Bedford again and dreading to see Sawyer Bedford again, he lost most of his stash.

Pappy and Bart were in good moods when the three Mavericks walked up the boardwalk to Willa's; Bret was bewildered by the fact that he couldn't focus on anything other than a girl he'd barely met. Poker had never failed him before, and it was beginning to slowly dawn on him that tonight he was the one that failed poker.

"Didn't look like you was doin' too good, Bret. Somethin' wrong?"

"Can't think straight, Pappy. Got too much on my mind."

Bart bounced along the boardwalk and showed no mercy to his brother. "Too much Mary Alice?"

"No, little brother."

"Uh, oh. Somebody else?"

Bret made a face but said nothing. Before Bart could ask anything else, Beauregard spoke up. "Leave your brother alone, Bartley."

"That's it, ain't it? That's why you been out doin' all those chores, you met another girl! And you're tryin' to forget about her! Now whatta you gonna do, Brother Bret?"

"Bartley!"

Bart loved his brother, but this was too good to let go. "Who is she, Bret? Do I know her? Where'd you meet her? Are you gonna see her again?"

"BARTLEY!"

The younger Maverick stopped dead in his tracks. It had been a long time since Pappy yelled at him like that, and he knew in an instant that he'd overstepped by teasing his brother. "Sorry," he muttered, and hung his head. "I didn't mean . . . "

Beauregard was considerably quieter when he spoke again. "When I tell you somethin', boy, I expect you to pay attention."

"Yes, sir," were the last words out of Bart's mouth as they walked inside Willa's.

Beau led them to a table and sat down, then turned his head towards Bart and pronounced, "Enough with the teasing. Whatever your brother's got on his mind is none of your business."

"Yes, sir," came the response, and Bart busied himself with trying to decide what he wanted to eat. Bret glanced around awkwardly to determine if Sawyer was there, but he didn't see her and breathed a sigh of relief. He'd just started to feel relaxed when he realized someone was standing next to him pouring coffee into his cup, and he looked up to find familiar blue-green eyes smiling at him. He almost groaned but managed to stay silent; if Bart knew this was the girl driving him to distraction, he'd never let Bret live it down.

He forced himself to look up and smile at her, then ask casually, "Hello, Sawyer. Nice to see you again. How are you this morning?"

"I'm very well, thank you." She turned and poured coffee into Beauregard's cup but never moved from the spot she was in. "This must be your youngest son – I see the family resemblance." Sawyer looked at Bart and smiled, and the fourteen-year-old blushed and remained silent. "Would you like coffee, too, Master Maverick?"

Bart's head bobbed up and down, and he managed a squeak. "I'm Bart."

"Good mornin', Sawyer. How's Little Bend been treatin' you and your ma?" This from Beauregard.

"Fairly well, Mr. Maverick. Mama's picked up some work since the last time I saw y'all, and she's pretty busy right now. And everyone here's been real nice. Everybody know what they want this morning? Mr. Maverick?"

"Bacon, eggs, grits, and flapjacks," Beau announced, then questioned, "Bart?"

"Flapjacks and eggs," was the order, and Sawyer turned back to Bret, who remained silent.

"Bret?"

"Uh, flapjacks and . . ."

"Bacon, bacon, bacon?" the girl asked. The question brought a genuine smile to the young man's face, putting his dimples on full display.

"Bacon, bacon, bacon," he answered, and for a moment his apparent 'conflict of interest' was forgotten. When she left the table to return to the kitchen he forced himself to be busy and not watch her walk away.

"Who's she?" Bart questioned.

Beau answered his youngest. "Sawyer Bedford. Her mama's got a sewin' shop down the street, makes and fixes all sorts of things. Next time we come in for supplies I've got some clothes to bring her. Maybe we can get your good coat patched, too."

Bret could hear Pappy and Bart talking, but he wasn't really listening. He was trying to think about Mary Alice, but every time he pictured her in his mind's eye, her face turned into Sawyer. And all he could hear repeating in his head was _'Zeke Holloway.'_

Like a hound with a new bone, Bart kept coming back to the subject at hand. "Is that her, Bret? Is Sawyer the girl that's got your head all messed up?"

One brother glared at the other and finally gave up. "Yes, Bart, Sawyer's the girl. Can you just leave it alone, please?"

Beauregard had been pushed far past his usual limit with Bart's relentless questioning. "If I hear one more word out of you aimed at your brother, it'll be a cold day in hell before I let you come with us on Friday night. And you and me will be havin' a long, long talk out in the barn."

Enough was enough, and Bart knew he'd long blown past the limits Pappy set. But it had been so inviting, and his brother was such an easy mark, that Bart tempted fate and asked his last question not of Bret, but of their father. "What do you think of her, Pappy? Is she prettier than Mary Alice?"

There was enough sand in Beauregard's voice to finally silence his youngest. "I think she's a nice girl, and that she's pretty. I ain't gonna compare her to Mary Alice. And as soon as you're done eatin', you and me are goin' home. Alone."

Bart swallowed hard and shut his mouth, just in time for Sawyer to deliver breakfast to the table. "Anything else I can get you?" she asked brightly.

"More coffee, please," Bret requested, and immediately dug into his food.

"Comin' right up."

The meal was eaten in silence until Bart started babbling about a new classmate he had at school. That was all right with Bret, anything so that he didn't have to listen to the voices in his head arguing with each other. _'You love Mary Alice, what are you doin' thinkin' about another girl? Do you love Mary Alice, or was Pappy right when he stopped the two of you from gettin' married? Does Mary Alice still love you? If she does, why is she talkin' all the time about Zeke Holloway? What if she loves Zeke Holloway instead? Why doesn't she write more often? How much longer do I have to wait until I see her again?'_ And, finally, _'Sawyer sure does seem nice.'_

It took him a minute to realize he'd allowed a single thought about Sawyer into his head and he almost dropped his fork. He looked up, startled, and saw that Pappy and Bart were done eating, and he had barely started. They were standing; Pappy was talking to him, and it was a minute before he caught on to what was being said. " . . . so we're goin' home. You take your time and come along when you're ready. You hear me, boy?"

"I can go now, Pappy, honest, I'm finished," Bret protested as he began to stand up. Beauregard put his hand on his son's shoulder and pushed him back down.

"You're not, and that's fine. Your brother and me got some private talkin' to do, anyway. Your breakfast is paid for, just come on home when you're done." Pappy bent down and whispered something in Bret's ear, and Bret nodded.

"Yes, sir."

The other two Maverick men departed, and Bret was left sitting by himself at the table. Sawyer appeared at his elbow with the coffee pot and he looked around the café. There was no one left anywhere but him.

"I'm sorry, I'll hurry and finish."

Sawyer set the coffee pot down on the table and then sank into a chair herself. "Don't rush, there ain't no reason to. How come they went off and left you?"

Bret chuckled, his head beginning to clear out the voices. "I think my younger brother and Pappy got a date with the barn."

"A whipping, you mean?"

Bret nodded. "You could call it that, but it don't qualify. Pappy always starts out good, and after two or three licks can't stand doin' anymore, and Bart gets off easy."

"Your father doesn't seem like that kind of man," Sawyer stated.

"To whip his sons? He's not. That's why two or three licks and done. It hurts him more than it hurts Bart."

"What about you? Does he do that to you, too?"

A shake of the head. "Pappy ain't raised a hand to me but once since I was five years old. My little brother's a slow learner."

A genuine laugh burst forth from the girl. "You're serious, ain't you?"

"Yes, ma'am. Bart's bright as he can be, and stubborn as he is bright. I'd do almost anything to keep him safe, but I ain't gonna take his lickin's for him."

She threw her wheat-gold head back and laughed again, and Bret laughed with her. "It must be somethin' to have a brother like that. I wouldn't know what to do with one, but I always wanted to find out. He seems like a good soul."

"He is, but like I said, he's stubborn. Sometimes when Pappy tells him to shut it down, Bart's got too many wisecracks for his own good."

"That'll probably serve him well when he's older." She stood up before telling him, "I got to clean up, there's another girl comin' in now. I get to leave soon as she's here."

"You goin' home?" Bret asked her, and she nodded.

"Yes, sir, home and to sleep for a while."

He stood up next to her. "Miss Sawyer, I'd be right proud if you'd allow me to walk you home."

She looked up at him for almost a minute before giving him her answer. "I think that would be fine, Mr. Maverick. Yes, sir, right fine."


	6. The Visit

Chapter 5 – The Visit

By the time Bret got home it was almost ten o'clock, and he was surprised to find Pappy waiting for him. "Long breakfast," was all Pappy said as he walked through the door.

"I . . . uh, I had somethin' to do in town."

"I was thinkin'," Beauregard began, and paused as if waiting for Bret to say something. When he didn't, Beau continued. "I got a friend down in Burnet that I haven't seen for the longest time. We used to gamble together when your Uncle Bentley was out of town. Clinton's been after me to come down and visit, and I'm gonna go this afternoon. How about you goin' with me?"

"There a particular reason?" Bret asked out of idle curiosity.

"Yeah, I ain't seen him in a long time. And you ain't seen him since you was two or three years old. Or would you rather spend Saturday night listening to your brother tease you about Mary Alice and Sawyer?"

"You ain't gonna leave Bart here by himself, are you?"

Beau shook his head. "No, he's already asked if he can go spend the night at Bentley's, and I said yes, if we go to Burnet. You game?"

Bret shrugged. There wasn't much to do on Saturday night except sleep, and that was hard to come by lately. "Sure. When do you wanna leave?"

"Couple hours. I got water on the stove for a bath; you got time to take one if you're so inclined."

"Yeah, I'd like to. I'll heat mine after you finish with yours. How come you never mentioned this friend before, Pa?"

"Well, we kinda took different paths in life and drifted apart. But I been thinkin' about Clint recently, and I'd like to see how he's fared."

"He still a gambler?"

Beauregard chuckled. "No, he quit that a long time ago. Got himself a ranch and a wife. There's my water boilin'. I'm goin' out back to the tub. You get yourself ready for yours, you hear?" Pappy picked up the kettle full of hot water and headed for the back door. Bret removed his hat and hung it on the new rack he'd made, then plopped himself down in the nearest chair. Visiting was not a normal state for Beauregard, and Bret wondered what might have triggered the desire to do so.

Still, Bret didn't ask his question until they were almost halfway to Burnet. "Why now, Pappy? Why did you decide to see this Clinton fella today? There must have been a reason, to come out of the clear blue sky like that."

"There was, Breton. Clint's a few years younger than me, and he was a pretty good poker player. Not as good as me, you understand, but good enough to make a living at it. And then he met a girl, and fell in love."

"Don't stop there, Pappy, it sounds like there's more."

"There is. She didn't want him to travel, and he gave up playin' poker. Mind you, he was no more fit to do anything else than I was, but he gave raisin' cattle a try. Then the babies started comin', and I ain't seen him in quite a while."

Bret knew there was more of a reason then Pappy had explained so far, but he was willing to let it go and see for himself. Knowing his father, the real reason for the visit was bound to become clear sooner or later.

Burnet was a tiny little town, way smaller than Little Bend; if you blinked at just the wrong moment, you missed it. They rode for another fifteen or twenty minutes before arriving at a small, dusty looking ranch. There were two slightly shabby horses in the corral but no sign of anything that even vaguely resembled cattle. Bret could hear children playing, laughing and yelling, coming from the rear of the ranch house itself.

Beauregard and his eldest son dismounted and tied their horses to the hitching rail out front. After Beau knocked they only waited a minute or two before the door was opened by a man that Bret didn't recognize or remember. He looked to be considerably older than Pappy.

And yet Beauregard had said Clinton was younger than he was – several years younger, as a matter of fact. Beau had a big smile on his face, as did the man standing in the doorway, so this must be Clint, and when Beauregard spoke he removed all doubt. "Clinton McCluskey! It's been a long time!"

McCluskey grabbed Beau's hand and the two men shook. "Come on in here, you old reprobate. And who is this . . . oh my God! This can't be Bret! He looks just like you! Come on in here, young fella. Last time I saw you, you couldn't a been more than two or three years old. Now look at ya! You're a man and dang near as tall as your father!" Beau walked through the front door and Clint reached out and grabbed Bret's hand, pulling him inside.

Clinton McCluskey was almost as tall as Beauregard, but that's where the similarities ended. His hair was solid white – Beau's was still mostly black with silver streaked through it. The younger man was slightly stooped over; Beau stood tall and straight. Last but not least, Clint was tanned brown with a face that was lined and weatherbeaten, while Beau's face was so wrinkle free it made him appear years younger than he actually was.

"Come in, come in and sit down. My gosh, has it been that long? And where's the little one, the son I've never met?"

"He ain't so little anymore, Clint. He's fourteen and almost as tall as Bret. He's with Ben and his cousin tonight. My youngest ain't quite as sociable as this one."

Bret took a good look around the ranch house. It was neat and tidy, but everything in it looked faded and worn. And just a little threadbare.

A woman entered the room; this must be Mrs. McCluskey. Younger looking than Clinton, she was still a handsome woman, and she greeted Beauregard with a kiss on the cheek. "As I live and breathe, Beau Maverick. It's been a long time, Beauregard. And this has to be Bret, it can't possibly be Bart."

"You're right, Millie, its Bret. Millie McCluskey, my oldest son Breton. Bret, this is Clint's wife, Millie."

"Ma'am," Bret said as he tipped his hat to her. He'd no more than sat down when a whole herd of children came pouring in the back door of the house. One, two, three, four, five, and Bret lost count. The oldest looked to be about his age; the youngest was no more than two or three. Bret almost whistled. No wonder Clint looked as old as he did; Bret was surprised Millie didn't look any older.

Almost as fast as they'd entered, Millie herded the children back outside. "I was just about to serve dinner, won't you join us?" she asked, and Pappy shook his head.

"Can't do that to you, Millie. Me and the boy'll get somethin' in town later."

"It's no trouble, Beau. The children have already eaten. I always feed them first, that way Clint and me can have some quiet time to ourselves. Come on, it's just some potato soup and biscuits. You always did like my potato soup."

Beauregard smiled. Millie was right, he loved her potato soup. It was the one thing that Belle could never master. "Alright Millie, we will. Thank you."

The soup and biscuits were tasty, and the conversation was lively. Beau and Clint talked about the old days and playing poker together; Bret sat and paid close attention to everything that was said. By the time dinner was finished he'd listened to many of his father's escapades; it was a whole new side of Beau that Bret hadn't heard about before. "Were you two always in so much trouble?" he asked during a lull in the conversation.

"Yes!" Clint and Beau answered in unison, and both started laughing. Bret had always thought of his father as stern, without a fun-loving bone in his body. He was inordinately pleased to discover that wasn't Pappy at all. His father sounded like a high-spirited prankster, whose jokes may have misfired but had a good time anyway. Except when it came to poker. Then, as now, poker was a serious business and was never treated lightly.

When there was finally a lull in the conversation, Bret asked another question. "How many children do you have?"

"We had eight," Clint replied, and Bret knew that wasn't the final answer. "Mattie was the oldest, she'd be seventeen now. We lost her the summer before last. Little Timothy died when he was three days old. So we still have six that the good Lord blessed us with, and we feel lucky beyond measure."

Another two hours went by and it was time to leave. "You have to come up and visit," Beau invited, and Clint promised they would.

"Soon as I find someone to stay with the brood. Can you just see me trekkin' cross country with six kids, just for a visit? But I promise we'll come. We'd love to meet Bart before he goes off and gets married."

"Little chance of that," Beauregard answered. "My fourteen-year-old is a little girl shy."

"And what about this one?" Millie asked. "Tall, good-lookin', polite as can be. He'd make somebody a good husband."

"You have no idea," Bret murmured under his breath.

"Not just yet," came his father's answer. "Him and his brother keep talkin' about leavin' Little Bend and travelin' the country to play poker."

"Ah, that's the life, it is. Now don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade what we've got here for anything. But the time to do it is while you're young."

Goodbyes were said, and the Mavericks turned their horses towards home. They rode in silence for the first mile or two before Bret finally asked a question. "You didn't just bring me down here to visit, did you, Pappy?"

Beauregard shook his head. "No, boy, I didn't. I brought you down here to show you what might happen if you and Mary Alice got married so young. Clinton is almost fifteen years younger than me, and you see what he looks like."

"But he loves his life, Pappy."

"I know he does, son. And I'm sure he's happy. But he was happy travelin' the country, too, and not spendin' every day in the same place, doin' the same thing. He's worked hard every day since the day he got married, and there ain't no end in sight for Clinton . . . or Millie. They didn't plan on havin' a bunch of kids, and they love 'em, but the truth is they still ain't goin' nowhere . . . not even to visit us. A big trip is a drive into Burnet, and you saw how small that town is. Can you imagine a life like that, with your brother roamin' around the country playin' poker wherever he pleased, in New Orleans or St. Louis or San Francisco? Or even Houston? Can you?"

Bret had to admit that Pappy had a good point. But he didn't have to say it out loud, at least not yet. "I could, maybe. With Mary Alice."

Beauregard sighed. He'd seen Bret's eyes grow big when he looked around the house; when the children had all piled inside; when he listened to the picture Pappy just painted. It was going to take something more than what he'd already seen, and then Beau had an idea. Maybe if Bret was reminded of what he'd have to give up . . . "I'm goin' to Houston next week. I haven't been in quite a while, and I'd like you to go with me."

"You would?"

"Yes, Bret, I would. Just you and me. We can stay over a couple nights and have us a real good time. Whatta you say?"

"I'd say . . . I'd say it sounds like a good trip, Pappy. And I'd be proud to go with you."


	7. Houston

Chapter 6 – Houston

Bret was excited about something for the first time in months, and the week couldn't pass quickly enough. Arrangements were made for Bart to stay with his Uncle Ben, and Cousin Beau promised that he and Bart would take care of the livestock. Bret was packed two days early and lay in bed wide awake the night before they were to leave.

He was up before sunrise and had already made coffee and started breakfast by the time Pappy emerged from his bedroom. "What is that smell?" Beauregard asked, and Bret actually grinned.

"Breakfast. I fried up all the bacon so's it wouldn't spoil while we were gone."

"Why does that not surprise me?" his father replied, but sat down at the table with a smile on his face. "What are you doin' up so early?"

"I couldn't sleep. Didn't know what time you wanted to leave."

"You packed?"

"Been packed for two days, Pa. How about you?"

"I'm ready to go. Your brother ain't gonna be happy gettin' up at this hour just to go to Ben's house."

Bret stifled a laugh. "Bart ain't gonna be happy gettin' up."

Bret ate hurriedly, eager to get on the road. Beau wasn't in as much of a hurry but finished not long after his oldest son, anyway. Getting his youngest out of bed was another matter, and by the time Bart was finally awake and dressed, Bret had saddled and packed all three horses.

"Told you we should have started an hour before we wanted to go," he told his father after Bart had taken the eastern road to Ben's house and they'd turned their horses south.

"Too late now," Beau replied, and they headed off at a slow lope for the first few minutes. It would be almost dark before they reached their destination, but it didn't matter to Bret. Pappy had gone to Houston several times in the last two or three years, but he'd always gone by himself. Bret felt privileged to be invited to go along. He didn't know that his father had a different kind of education in mind for his eldest son, and hoped that it would get his mind off Mary Alice Tompkins. Permanently.

XXXXXXXX

The Houston Palace Hotel was unlike anything Bret had ever seen. It was luxurious beyond his wildest imagination, with a wide staircase up to the rooms covered with the fanciest gold carpet he'd ever seen. "Let's have a late supper in the dining room and then I'll take you into the poker room with me," Beauregard proposed, and Bret nodded eagerly.

"I ain't got no clothes fancy enough for this place," Bret lamented as they were finishing their meal.

"You've got a good black coat. What else do you need?"

"One of them fancy shirts. You know, Pa, the kind with the ruffles all down the front? And I need a new vest. My old one don't fit anymore."

"I tell you what – if the tailor I used to frequent is still here, I'll take you by tomorrow and we'll see what we can do. How's that?"

"I sure would appreciate it, Pa. You think I'm alright for tonight?"

Beau looked his oldest son over. "You'll do just fine. Quit worrying."

"But, Pappy . . . "

Beau paid for supper and stood up. "Come on, let's go play some poker."

On their way to the poker room they passed the loudest room Bret could imagine. He looked inside and saw roulette wheels, faro games, and the prettiest saloon girls he'd ever seen, with three of them dancing on the bar. There were cowboys and bankers and businessmen in all manner of dress, and it looked to be the most exciting room on earth. Beauregard caught his arm and prevented him from going in as they walked past the doorway. The look on Bret's face said it all.

"No, Breton, that's where the gamblers go. That room's not for you and me." Beau steered him towards a quieter room towards the back of the hotel. The young man knew what his father meant as soon as they walked in.

There were more than twenty tables, each engaged in some variation of the game of poker. There were Draw Poker Tables, Stud Poker Tables, and even tables where they were playing Red Dog. It was the largest poker room that Bret had ever seen. "Find yourself a game, boy, and don't leave without letting me know you're goin'. And watch your money. The majority of these men are scoundrels. You know all their tricks."

In less than a minute Pappy was gone, a table of Five Card Draw having attracted his attention. Bret took his time and wandered around the room, checking everything out until he found a table that seemed comfortable to him. It was Seven Card Stud, something he didn't always play, but tonight it seemed to pull him in.

He started off slowly but gained momentum as he went along. Every once in a while he checked to make sure Pappy was still at his table; still playing and, from what Bret could see, still winning. Bret played until almost four o'clock in the morning. When he started yawning every few seconds, he knew it was time to quit. He gathered his money and slipped it into his inside coat pocket, thanked the men he'd been playing against, and excused himself from the table. Just as he approached Beauregard's table he heard his father say, "Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure. I have a tired son to take care of. Perhaps we can do this again tomorrow night?"

"You didn't have to quit, Pa. I can get myself to bed. I ain't five years old anymore."

Beauregard nodded. "You just go on and get yourself up to the room. I gotta take care of somethin' before I come to bed. I'll be along right soon."

"Yes, sir," Bret answered, and walked back through the hotel, until he saw Pappy duck into the loud and raucous gambling hall. _'Now what was Pappy doing going in there?'_ He wondered, but continued on back to their hotel room. He had just finished pulling his boots off and getting undressed when Beau arrived. "Everything alright, Pappy?"

Beauregard gave his eldest son a grin. "Couldn't be better, boy. Couldn't be better. Got somethin' to show you tonight. Get to bed, now, and we'll go lookin' for my tailor in the mornin'."

Bret crawled into bed, too tired to worry anymore tonight. He could actually hear Beau whistling softly as he drifted off to sleep, and he wondered what had put his father in such a good mood. Little did he know it involved an offer made and accepted, one of the dance hall girls, and him. The continuing education of Bret Maverick was about to begin.


	8. The Gift

Chapter 7 – The Gift

"I like that one better than the first one, Bret." Beauregard was offering his opinion on the vest that Bret had picked. The first one was beige and gold, and the second one was a powder blue with silver threads. "The first one looks like somethin' your brother would wear. This one looks like you." They'd been at the tailor's almost an hour already; Bret had two ruffled front shirts, a black string tie, and the vest. Beau had found a cream colored frock coat that he liked, along with a matching vest and dark brown trousers. "You think that gold vest would fit Bart?"

"Probably, the way he's been growin'. But ain't that a little fancy for him, Pappy?"

"Nothin's ever too fancy for your brother. He needs to have some good clothes that he won't go runnin' through the hog pen in."

Bret laughed. "Is that why we don't have no hogs anymore?"

"Partially. But it's as good an excuse as any."

"One more thing, Pa."

"What's that?"

"A new hat?" There was a brand new black hat perched atop Bret's head, and Beau had to admit it looked good on him.

"Alright, that too. That'll do it, Sam." Sam Jeffords nodded and smiled at one of his oldest customers.

"That blue vest fits him like it was made for him," Sam commented as he started adding up the total charges. "You taking the gold one, too?"

"Yes, sir," the father answered. "I can't come home without somethin' for the young 'un."

"What about a shirt for Brother Bart?"

Pappy shook his head. "Bart ain't the ruffly front type. You got anything else a little on the fancy side, Sam?"

"I've got a pin-tucked shirt that needs cufflinks. He got any of those?"

"As a matter of fact, he does. His momma left 'em to him. Let me have one a those shirts, too. We'll see how he likes that."

"Anything else, Beau? You sure this is all you need?"

Pappy laughed a little. "Need ain't got nothin' to do with it, Sam. That'll do it for now."

When the transactions were completed Bret gathered the packages and walked outside with them. "Your coat and vest will be ready tomorrow," the tailor informed the gambler, and Beau nodded.

"Sounds good, Sam. We'll see you then." He joined his oldest son on the boardwalk and they headed back towards the hotel. "Can we make another stop?"

"Sure, Pappy. The tobacco store?"

"You know me too well, Breton," came the father's reply.

"Mind if I get a couple?"

Beau had really wanted the boys to wait until they were older before they started smoking, but he knew it was already too late for that. He sighed before answering. "Whatever you want."

The tobacco store was soon behind them, and they were again headed for the hotel. "How about some lunch?" the younger man asked.

"Sounds good to me. But let's eat in the gambling hall. Nows the best time to see it, while things are fairly quiet, and they've got great food."

Bret eagerly nodded. He thought his two glimpses last night were as close as he would get to the place that fascinated, even if it didn't entice, him. "I'd like that, Pa."

' _More than you'll ever know,'_ went through Beauregard's mind. He hoped everything he'd arranged went the way it was supposed to.

XXXXXXXX

They were almost finished with lunch when Erlene showed up. Tall and slender, with rust-colored hair and eyes as blue as midnight, Bret saw her the moment she sashayed into view. It was hard not to stare, especially when he realized that she was headed for their table. "Pappy?" he managed to get out before she sat down next to him.

"Hello, handsome. Your first time here?" Her voice was soft and low, like melted butter, and she rested her hand lightly on his right arm.

"Yes, ma'am. How'd you know?" His insides might have been fluttering, but his words came out strong and firm. He took a good look at her and realized that she couldn't have been two or three years older than him, at the very most. Her skin was flawless, and the only thing that kept sliding through his mind was _'Oh my, oh my, oh my.'_

She started massaging his arm with her fingertips and electricity shot through his body. The boy was confused, flustered, and something else. Something he'd only felt once, with Mary Alice, when they'd decided that the best way to force Beauregard into letting them get married was to . . . sleep together. And even then it wasn't the same. Both the boy and girl had been half naked, and they were kissing and hugging and . . . right now he was just sitting here, in the gambling hall at the Houston Palace Hotel, fully dressed and with a girl he'd never seen before touching . . . his arm. What in the world was going on? Where was this feeling coming from? And why did he want to do nothing more than reach out and kiss her . . . or touch her . . . or anything that he shouldn't be thinking about? "Uh, ma'am . . . "

"Erlene. My name's Erlene. What's yours, handsome?" she practically purred at him.

"Bret. My name is Bret." It took everything that he had inside of him to keep from stuttering. He wanted to reach out and grab her hand, pull it away from his arm, anything to keep these feelings from getting any stronger . . . and then something changed, and the only thing he wanted was more . . . more touching, more touching, more touching; closer and closer until . . . Pappy was saying something, and he had to shake his head before his ears would work.

"I've got somethin' to attend to, boy. You enjoy yourself, you hear?" And before he could open his mouth his father was up and gone, and he was left sitting at the table with this vision in blue that had merely laid her hand on his arm, but touched every nerve in his body . . .

"I have a room upstairs, in back. Would you like to come visit me there? I can show you . . . the whole city from my window." Erlene made it sound like going to her room was the most natural thing in the world.

And with nary a thought for anyone or anything else, Bret let his body answer for him as his left hand covered hers.

XXXXXXXX

Bret opened his eyes and looked around the room. It was almost dark, and there was a faint glow from the kerosene lamp sitting on the dresser. He turned his head away from the lamp and back towards the bed, seeing her head resting on his shoulder a second or two before he felt the girl in his arms and realized . . . they were both naked as a newborn baby.

What in the world had happened? One minute he was sitting in the gambling hall with Pappy finishing lunch, and the next minute he was . . . here, in what could only be Erlene's room. In bed. Naked. With a girl he'd never seen before. And they'd . . . yes, they most certainly had. Several times, as a matter of fact. Until they both thought that if they didn't get some sleep they'd die. Then he remembered the details.

The warmth of her hands. The way holding her in his arms felt. The taste of her lips on his. The excitement, the passion, the strange desire to do it all again. And again. He kept waiting to feel . . . shame. Humiliation. Anything but what he was feeling . . . which was nothing more than . . . pleasure. Pure, unadulterated pleasure. An absolutely delicious feeling had spread throughout his entire body, and he understood what it felt like to make love to another human being.

In that instant he knew just what Pappy had been doing last night when he disappeared into the gambling hall. Of course, it all made perfect sense. The trip to Houston, the treatment as a poker playing equal, the new clothes, lunch in the gambling hall, and the girl. Pappy had arranged all this, and paid for it too, no doubt, including Erlene. He was sure there would be a lesson in there somewhere from his father, about growing up and being a man, and learning to love a woman, any woman, and he would listen to Pa talk for hours if he had to. This was a gift, a present from a father to his eldest son, a 'welcome to manhood,' a one-time thing, and he didn't care it had all been arranged in advance. It was the greatest present his father could have given him.


	9. Pappy Was Right

Chapter 8 – Pappy was Right

Considering how late it was when Bret finally got dressed and left Erlene, he knew Pappy would be in the poker room, so that's where he headed. He wasn't wrong; his father was easy to find and was just raking in the pot for the latest hand. As soon as he realized Bret was standing behind him, Beauregard gathered his funds and excused himself from the game.

He didn't say anything, just put his hand on Bret's back and steered him towards the dining room, where they were soon seated at a table. A waitress brought them coffee and promised to return for their order, and they sat together in silence while they each contemplated their cup. Finally Bret broke that silence. "Sorry I'm so late."

"You ain't late, boy, you were busy."

"A little."

More silence followed. The waitress returned as promised and took their order, refilled their coffee, and left for the kitchen.

Next it was Beau's turn. "Everything . . . work out alright?"

Bret grinned, and no answer was necessary. But he gave one anyway. "Just fine, Pappy. Just fine." He cleared his throat before continuing. "Kind of . . . an unusual gift, wasn't it?"

Beau's oldest son was just about to turn sixteen. "Consider it a birthday present."

"I thought that's what the clothes were."

"This was more of a 'welcome to manhood' gift." Beau smiled then, secure in the knowledge that things had gone just the way they were supposed to. After all, Bret was a Maverick, and Maverick men were well-versed in the art of satisfying the fairer sex. Even beginners.

"Pappy, I . . . I don't quite understand. Mary Alice and me . . . you wouldn't let us . . . but you arranged this."

"It's different now, Bret. You're a year older. You ain't gonna try and marry the girl. It was time you learned what kind of pleasure making love to a woman can give to both of you. Think of all the beautiful women out there in the world . . . and what that means to a man. Especially a Maverick man. What if you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, and nothin' else? How long would it take you to get sick of that food, even if it was bacon? Uh, huh, you know what I mean. That's the way it is with women. Until . . . "

"Until what, Pa?"

There was a catch in Beauregard's voice when he answered. "Until you meet the one that you can't live without."

Everything was just a little clearer to Bret than it had been before. "Isabelle Grayson."

"Isabelle Grayson . . . Maverick."

"And Mary Alice . . . ?"

Pappy's voice changed; he sounded more like himself. "Be honest, son. Did Mary Alice even cross your mind while you were with Erlene?"

The oldest Maverick son was ashamed but admitted the truth. "No."

"Do you feel guilty about that?"

A nod of the head. "Yeah. Sorta. A lot, now that I think about it."

Beauregard suppressed a smile. "But not until I brought it up?"

Bret felt worse, if that was even possible. "How can that be?" he wailed. "I love her, Pappy. How could I not even think about her?"

Beau reached over and laid his hand on Bret's. "Remember what I told you about eatin' bacon? You just discovered there's other food in the world, son. That don't mean you don't love her. It just means she may not be 'the one,' that's all."

"You . . . you think?"

"That's up to you to decide, Breton. But it's somethin' to think about, ain't it?"

The newly minted Maverick man nodded. "It is that."

XXXXXXXX

Later that night they played poker again, and Bret realized something that would affect his game the rest of his life. It was easier to contemplate an issue that was bothering him when he gave the majority of his attention to poker rather than the problem. He could play the game successfully and worry, or contemplate, or debate how to resolve the matter with a clear mind.

The subject tonight, of course, was Mary Alice. He kept going over and over his encounter with Erlene and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find a single moment when he thought of anyone but Erlene and how to please her. No Pappy, no Brother Bart, and certainly no Mary Alice. Was his father right? Could he love Mary Alice but no longer be 'in love' with her? And what if that was true?

Soon they would be together again; she was supposed to return to Texas in June or July, and it was almost the beginning of April. And she was expecting them to be married. But what if . . . what if he didn't want to marry her anymore?

He almost stopped breathing when that thought passed through his mind, and it took nearly a full minute before he could think of anything else. What if it was true?

He won the hand with three tens and collected a good sized pot before his mind wandered back into that pasture again. And while he played the next game against five other men at the table, a stream of consciousness began. _Mary Alice. Marriage. Erlene. Riding to Houston with Pappy, free as a bird. Fine new clothes without worrying about how much they cost. The smooth transition he'd made from boy to man. Full circle to Mary Alice again._

It dawned on him slowly – if he'd gotten married last year there would be no Houston, no Erlene, no chance to know Sawyer Bedford better. No leaving Little Bend with Bart when they were old enough. No traveling where they wanted, when they wanted, if they wanted. He'd be roped and hog-tied, the way Clinton McCluskey was. Forever staked to one piece of ground, to one woman, to one life. Pappy was right. PAPPY WAS RIGHT.

Oh, dear Lord, Pappy was right.


	10. It Runs in the Family

Chapter 9 – It Runs in the Family

The trip back home was made mostly in silence. It was obvious to Beauregard that something had changed in his oldest son; something besides the results of his encounter with Erlene.

Bret's head was spinning. Too much had happened in the last few weeks for a grown man to handle, much less an almost sixteen-year-old. And the truth weighing most heavily on his mind was the realization that everything his father had done to prevent his marriage at age fifteen to Mary Alice Tompkins the previous summer was the right thing to do.

He hadn't come to that conclusion easily. He and Mary Alice had fought tooth and nail to be together, including running away to get married and attempting to consummate their relationship in the hopes of forcing a wedding. Pappy had sent Mary Alice to live with her aunt in Louisiana and Bret had stopped talking to him; months passed before the silent treatment became old and normal conversation resumed. And this year alone had presented a whole new set of reasons that drove the point home to Bret like nothing else.

Mary Alice's letters were full of stories about a boy named Zeke Holloway. A new girl had moved to town, Sawyer Bedford, and Bret was more than interested in her. He'd been introduced to an old friend of his father's who'd forsaken the free and easy life that he wanted for a ranch, a wife, and eight children, tying him down in one spot. Then there was the trip to Houston, with the new clothes he'd gotten and the taste of manhood he'd experienced with Erlene.

Pappy was right all along; Bret and Mary Alice were too young to get married. Bret had faced that fact, but now there were two things he needed to do that were even more difficult. He had to write to Mary Alice and try to explain his change of heart, and he had to admit the truth to Pappy.

The letter would be the easier of the two tasks. He would rather take a beating than explain what he'd realized to his father, but he knew it had to be done before they reached home. Thus the spinning head. And the silence.

They'd travelled more than halfway when Beauregard could stand it no longer. "Boy, you got somethin' botherin' you?"

Bret looked up, startled. "Haven't we already had this conversation?" he asked his father.

Beau nodded. "I thought we had, but there's somethin' still eatin' away at you. What is it?"

"Nothin'."

"You sure?"

"Yes, sir."

They rode on in silence for another mile or so. Beauregard was willing to wait for his son, his carbon copy, to decide it was time to unburden himself. And they hadn't gone much further when exactly that happened.

"Pappy?"

"Yes, Breton?"

"I . . . I got somethin' to tell you."

"I'm listenin,' son."

"You were . . . you were right."

"I was right about what?"

"About . . . about . . . "

Beauregard suspected he knew what Bret was trying to tell him, but part of the process of assuming the mantle of manhood was dealing with issues that were difficult to discuss. So Beau waited patiently for his oldest to find a way to explain himself.

"About . . . me and Mary Alice."

"Oh? Anything in particular?" Beauregard loved his boys fiercely, and he'd do anything in the world for them. But Bret had to do this for himself, no matter how difficult it might prove to be.

"Uh . . . about us . . . bein' too young . . . to get . . . to get . . . "

"Too young for what?"

The words all came out in a rush. "Togetmarried."

"Uh huh."

Bret waited for whatever else Pappy had to say, but he was met with silence. Several minutes passed before he asked, "Ain't you got nothin' else to say?"

"Like what, son?"

"Like I told you so."

"Nope." His boy had learned a valuable lesson; Beau saw no sense in rubbing it in. He breathed a slow sigh of relief and smiled at his eldest son. "What'er you gonna do now? About Mary Alice, I mean?"

"I gotta . . . tell her."

"You still want her to come back to Little Bend?"

Bret shook his head. "Ain't much sense in it, is there? We ain't gettin' married. Besides . . . "

Beau waited. Something was still bothering Bret, that much was certain.

"I think she's found another boy."

XXXXXXXX

By the time they arrived back at the ranch it was too late to retrieve Bart from his uncle's house, so it was decided to go into town for a late supper. Father and son talked about all number of things as they rode into Little Bend, but Mary Alice was not one of the subjects discussed. They went to Willa's for the meal; Sawyer wasn't working and Bret was disappointed but thought it best considering what he'd experienced the last few days. An evening without a girl in his head, any girl, would provide a welcome respite.

When they were almost finished and contemplating dessert, Bret had a question for his father. "How'd you know, Pappy?"

"Know what, son?"

"That we shouldn't get married?"

Beauregard cleared his throat. "Experience."

"Experience?" his son questioned.

"Experience," Beau asserted.

"Uh . . . Pappy . . . whose experience?"

Beauregard put his fork down and stared off into space for a minute before answering. "My own, son. My own." Another minute passed. "I suppose you wanna know about it?"

Bret nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, sir. It might help."

"I . . . I was the same age as you, fifteen. Strong willed and bull headed, and there was a girl. A girl named Emma Slade. To tell you the truth, Bret, I can't even remember what she looked like." The waitress came by and both Maverick's ordered apple pie and coffee. After their dessert was in front of them, Beau restarted his story. "We ran away together, and my Pa came after us. He took us both home and I swore I'd never give him another moment's peace. And that was before he whaled the tar outta me."

"What happened to her?"

Beauregard shook his head. "She found somebody else to marry, and when I was old enough I left home. I never saw her after that. Many years later I met your momma, and I was right glad that Pa stopped me from gettin' hitched."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I was hopin' my oldest son was smarter than me. And I didn't figure you'd listen to me anyway."

Another silence of five or six minutes as they ate their pie. "Thanks, Pappy."

"For what, Breton?"

"For stoppin' me from makin' that same mistake. And for lettin' me figure it all out by myself. Makes a lotta sense now."

"Do me a favor, son?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Make sure your brother don't try the same thing."

"I don't think . . . yes, sir, I will."


	11. Dear Mary Alice

Chapter 10 – Dear Mary Alice

 _Dear Mary Alice – There's something I've been thinking about for quite a while, and this letter seems like the right time to tell you. A lot has changed since you left for Louisiana, and I'm sure that's true for you, too. I understand from your letters that someone new has entered your life; you spend a lot of time telling me about him – Zeke Holloway. This sounds like a good thing, and I'm happy for you._

 _I care about you, Mary Alice, and I always will, but I've come to the conclusion that Pappy was right when he stopped us from getting married. It seemed like the right idea at the time, but I don't think it's right anymore. You have a life in Louisiana with your aunt, and I have a life here in Little Bend with Pappy and Bart. I'm not ready for mine to change right now, and you probably aren't either._

 _I think it would be best if you canceled your plans to come back to Texas. I hope that you aren't disappointed with this change; I have the feeling you won't be. I hope we can remain friends, as you will always be a very important person in my life. With all my affection, Bret._

He'd written the letter four different times and torn up the first three copies _._ He still wasn't happy with what he'd said but couldn't think of any other way to say it, and finally decided he'd done the best he could. Bret wondered if he should let Pappy read it, but decided this was his problem to deal with. He folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope, then sealed it before he could change his mind. The next trip to Little Bend, he'd mail it.

Things had settled down since he and Beauregard returned from Houston. Bart sensed some kind of a change in him but couldn't put his finger on exactly what was different. No matter how much he teased or harassed his brother, Bret stayed calm and collected. It made Bart wonder exactly what happened while they were gone.

Bret wasn't quite sure himself. His whole attitude had changed, and he really didn't understand why. He'd always been protective of his little brother; at the same time, Bart could aggravate him like no one else. Now he seemed to see things in a new light, and accepted as fact that it was his job to look after the younger Maverick, no matter how challenging his brother was behaving.

He was different around girls and women, too. More at ease and sure of himself, he'd always been polite and deferential; now he was sweet and tender towards all of them, but especially Sawyer. He did everything in his power to make her laugh and smile, and spent a good portion of his time affecting small repairs at her mother's house and helping wherever he could. He was more willing to take care of chores at the Maverick Ranch without Pappy begging and pleading. Beauregard was pleased by the changes in his oldest son.

He was more serious when it came to poker, too. Somewhere along the way it stopped being a game and become a way of life, and Bret embraced it wholeheartedly. He was always a good poker player; a cut above the rest of the serious gamblers. He took the next step forward in his chosen profession and even began beating his father regularly.

He finally mailed the letter he'd worked so hard to write, and eventually got the briefest of notes back from Mary Alice. She didn't dispute his assumption that she was more than casually interested in Zeke Holloway, and told him she thought it best that they stop writing to each other. Bret breathed a small sigh of relief and rode into Little Bend that night to play poker.

When poker was finished he and Pappy went to eat breakfast at Willa's, and Bret flirted shamelessly and guilt-free with Sawyer Bedford. He stayed at the café until Sawyer was off for the night and walked her home, then gave her a tender kiss good-night and rode back to the ranch. He found himself humming as he unsaddled his horse and it finally dawned on him – he'd been much happier since he'd broken things off with Mary Alice. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved her; no doubt that the best thing for both of them was their break-up. And when he finally did fall in love with the one woman he couldn't live without, he'd remember Mary Alice Tompkins and smile.

The End


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